Just a sliver of sun touches Goose Eye Mountain on one recent day as Suzanne Pierce wakes at 6 a.m. to feed her miniature donkeys. Today, she’s a little late, so Lucy, in her late 20s, and Joseph, 36, are braying.

They stomp their rear hooves in a kind of tap dance — not because they’re hungry, as it seems, but because of arthritis brought on by the cold. It goes away in the summer, Pierce explains.

The pair trail her closely as she carries their pails outside at her Newry farm. In winter, she mixes their hay and low-carb pellets with warm water.

“It’s like porridge. I totally baby them,” she said. When the equine dentist comes, she will file their teeth flatter so the little points created by chewing won’t hurt their inner cheeks.

Her connection to animals started early.

“I was one of those little girls who did not want to go to dance class,” said Pierce of her 7-year-old self. She spent most summers working at a stable through college. Her horse, Queenie, was boarded there.

When Pierce and her family moved to Newry in 2005, she had horses again, and her daughter, Hannah, learned to ride. On the wall are bronze name plaques of the three horses that have come and gone — Jezebele, Moneeka and Bear. Over time, the herd changed. By fall 2020, only one horse remained — Bear — alone in the barn beside the home Pierce shares with her husband, Bruce; children, Reece and Hannah; and their two dogs.

Then came the donkeys.

Their farrier, Cassidy Bedard, knew of a 9-year-old donkey that needed a home and could help their workhorse adjust.

“They like to herd,” Pierce said of donkeys and horses.

Though the family had kept pigs and other animals, they had never owned a donkey. Nine-year old Kirby charmed them when they visited him in 2020.

“He was so sweet … comes up to you, wants to see what you’re doing, checks out your pockets,” Pierce said.

Rescue donkeys Lucy and her mother, Lu Lu, arrived next. Last was Joseph, who had belonged to their neighbors.

Talking to her, it’s hard to believe Pierce is a relatively new donkey owner. She speaks with an intuitive understanding of their behavior, noting Lucy showed no lasting distress after her mother’s death.

Pierce is also attentive to their care, closely monitoring issues like vaccinations and dental health.

She distinguishes donkeys from horses.

“They don’t display their discomfort like a horse does. They are much more stoic,” Pierce said. “They don’t spook like horses. You don’t have to worry about getting in behind them. No one is going to kick at you. I love horses, but they are kind of aloof.”

The animals are part of a small, evolving farmstead. Five “golden comet” chickens live year-round in the hen pen, alongside a rotating group of others the family calls “winter camp” — hens belonging to neighbors without an adequate cold-weather shelter. Pierce feeds them organic layer pellets and a few dried mealy worms.

Elsewhere, Bedard continues connecting animals with people. Kirby was ultimately placed with another family, where he became a Christmas surprise for a Skowhegan household with two young girls.

Pierce said she misses riding, “but riding horses is a commitment both to them and to you. They need regular exercise.”

Donkeys, she said, ask for less. Now retired after 36 years with Outward Bound, she has more time — and the freedom to travel — but the rhythm of morning chores remains.

“They live to 50. When you get a donkey, it’s for life,” she said.

And at daybreak, with Goose Eye Farm just catching the light, Lucy and Joseph are waiting — steady, insistent and right at home.